Published: March 05, 2005

The November drive home from the pheasant fields of South Dakota to Minneapolis is the longest and loneliest. Cruise control and a ruler-straight interstate make contemplation easy. I find myself reminiscing about the season past, painting mental pictures of the resplendent graces of nature and some of the people I met afield. I’m denying the calendar reality of the coming winter and the fact that, for me, this hunting season is over.…